Yep. I wasn’t going to write today. Yesterday — Father’s Day — was simply too much. The emotions were pegged at maximum all day. The new morning brought no relief. None! I didn’t feel like writing. I wondered if I might ever again. So, what I’m doing right here and now is forcing myself to not let it get the better of me. I’m not even concerned with what I’ll write. The main thing is I just need to do it. Plow through it. It doesn’t have to be long. Or insightful. Or even coherent. It just has to happen. So I hope…
I know myself too well. If I let this linger I’ll go deep into despair. The effort to pull myself out is more than a guy can stand. So, best to face it squarely… emotional debris be damned. Oh, sure, I know I’ll come out the other side wounded and tired. I’ll curse the universe for its blatant disregard for fairness and compassion. I’ll point out its obvious flaw in the diseased conception of certain violent people. I’ll again, for probably the millionth time, consider the odds of Ryan happening upon his beating. All he wanted was a late-night snack!
But, I’ll come out.
Still, not quite the same as when I was pulled in. Part of me will be left behind. This I know. Only to be replaced by something I still can’t put a name on. It’s ugly and course, but it’s just as effective as a scar tissue over a wound. It’s there to see for all time. The universe’s way of forever reminding me that I was hurt, and there’s plenty more where that came from. These emotional gashes I have right now will only do the same. Every day more open. They cut to the bone.
It hurts so badly.